


Spirits in the Material World

by SamanthaStephens



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Arthur sees dead people, Arthur talks to ghosts, Consensual Possession, F/M, Ghost Possession, Ghost Sex, Ghosts, Heists, Inception Reverse Big Bang Challenge 2016, M/M, Mal the ghost, Non-Consensual Possession, Real and fake seances, con men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-09-01 12:37:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8624743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SamanthaStephens/pseuds/SamanthaStephens
Summary: Arthur, Dom, and Mal are a two-man, one-ghost team travleing the world conning people out of their money. But what happens when the recently deceased son of a mark starts haunting Arthur?Many thanks to Lauand for the gorgeous and inspiring artwork. And for the tolerance with my general hermity way of doing these things.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I tagged this with non-con, because of the ghosts possession sex. Both living parties fully and consciously consent to sex, but one does not know he is being possessed later when the sex actually happens.

A job hadn't gone upside down on them in ages, so Arthur supposes they were due for it. But that doesn't make the potential fallout any less unpleasant to anticipate.

He'd been so sure Mrs. Eames-Clarke was the perfect mark. Everything about her son's story indicated that he should have chosen to move on to whatever awaits at the end of the Tunnel, not to stick around and skulk in this place. He'd had what seemed to be an adventurous, if short, life and had died heroically, saving a drunk from a burning building.

Arthur really isn't sure where he went wrong in the research and he honestly hopes he never has to find out, either.

Dom on the other hand is livid. He's screaming in Arthur's face about all the time they sank into this con when they could have gone with Mr. Fischer instead. Arthur isn't going to rise to the bait this time. Yeah, he'd fucked up somewhere, missed some clue, but whatever. No one got hurt. They hadn't spent too much money prepping, and if anyone is going to feel the consequences of their mistake, it'll Arthur who ends up haunted.

He'd recognized Daniel Eames-Clarke the moment he'd floated into his mother's sitting room, pouty lips pursed and one eyebrow raised incredulously. Many ghosts make themselves look lovelier than they had in life, and others go for gore or oddity. But this one looked exactly like the young man in the photographs Arthur had pored over while trying to figure out how to best bilk the deceased's mother out of the trust she no longer had anyone left to inherit.

During the research phase, Arthur had fantasized a bit about having met the sexy guy in those snapshots before his demise. But now that he's facing down the possibility of an angry ghost stirring up trouble in his life in revenge for an incomplete con, Arthur isn't so thrilled at the idea of having made Daniel Eames-Clarke's acquaintance.

The closet door squeaks on its hinges and then bangs shut like it belongs in a creaky old house, rather than a brand spanking new hotel suite.

Mal is trying to get Dom's attention.

Ordinarily Arthur would intervene on her behalf, but not in the middle of being berated by her husband.

The window fogs up and she writes: "What's done is done. Leave it be, love" on the glass.

Dom grumbles a bit, but drops down to sprawl across the love seat, letting the fight go out of his body. Although he can't even see her, Dom always acquiesces to his wife's demands. It's what had brought he and Arthur together, after all.

She had spent the first year of her afterlife seeking the perfect partner for her husband to carry on the work they'd done together when she was alive

Although there are a lot of cons out there who claim to put people in touch with their deceased relatives, there are very few people who truly, actually have the Sight and still use it for personal gain.

Arthur is one of those rare few assholes.

Mal had wooed Arthur away from his former gig.

He'd been on his own, helping the dead haunt their hated friends and relatives in exchange for telling him how to find whatever valuables they'd squirreled away in various hidey holes when they were alive. A strange kind of consultancy, but it suited Arthur's strange kind of life.

Mal and Dom had painstakingly taught him how to work a fake-medium con.

The advantage being, of course, that Arthur wasn't a fake. He could communicate with the dead as easily as he could the living--more easily, if he was being honest with himself.

But having Mal play the ghosts of their marks' deceased friends or relatives was so much easier than dealing with the actual deceased friends or relatives, who might not be so happy about discovering what Arthur and Dom and Mal were up to.

So Arthur and Mal work together to create the illusion of a proper Visitation and Dom, with his keen ability to read people's reactions, maneuvers the mark into doing exactly what they want.

Why Mal cares about money in the afterlife is anyone's guess. But Arthur suspects she just likes the work and wants to spend time with her husband doing what they had excelled at together when she was still among the living.

Now that Dom's combative mood has cooled off a tad, Arthur orders them some room service and a nice bottle of wine. After they've chilled out a bit, he can raise the subject of going after Mr. Fischer again. No point in trying to manipulate or game Dom into thinking it's his idea. Arthur isn't good at reading people the way Dom is, at least not living ones. And you can't bullshit a master bullshitter. It'll be better to just apologize, say Dom was right all along, and get moving on the next job.

Later that night, Mal floats through the wall of Arthur's bedroom off the main suite.

"Mon cher, I am so sorry about Dominic's behavior earlier. He becomes so emotionally invested in these scenarios we create," she says as she hovers next to the window.

Arthur can tell that she's lonely. He knows how hard this game can be on her--spending time with a husband she loves with a fierceness that frightens Arthur, despite the fact that Dom can't see, hear, or properly touch her.

"It's all right, Mal. I fucked up. Right now I'm much more concerned about Eames-Clarke showing up and putting the ethereal smack on me than I am your husband's disappointment that we wasted six weeks of research time on a con we have to abandon."

"Oh pshaw, my Arthur, this Daniel won't harm you. If it didn't happen in the moment, it won't happen later."

"He did look more perplexed at the situation than angry, but I can't shake the feeling that he's going to seek us out, Mal."

"Be vigilant, Arthur, but not paranoid. If he comes, you will handle it."

"I hope so," Arthur replies.

He's faced down angry ghosts before, but never while trying to look out for a team at the same time.

Dom isn't entirely defenseless against the supernatural, but he's at a disadvantage, not being able to see or hear ghosts himself. And exorcism, the last-ditch resort against a severe haunting, isn't exactly something Arthur enjoys doing at the best of times. Pulling one off without it affecting Mal would be really tough, maybe impossible.

\----------

For weeks, it seems as if Mal was right. There's no sign of a vengeful ghost lurking around as they relocate from London to Paris and start research and prep for the Fischer job.

This time out, instead of a mother grieving for a son cut down too young, they're targeting a neglected son who is primed to shed the fortune his cold and unsupportive father had nevertheless bequeathed to him. All he needs is a little reminder of how terrible his father routinely made him feel and a suggestion that starting over without his inheritance is the only way to move past the number that his dad had done on his self esteem.

"We should consider the money payment for additional therapy," Dom grouses as Arthur reports out his latest research findings.

"Just focus on the fact that we can do this job pretty much guilt free. The dude will be better off without all that blood money weighing him down."

"I do every job guilt free."

Arthur rolls his eyes.

"Of course you do."

"Why are you in this line of work if it tears you up so much inside?"

"Because your lovely wife wouldn't leave me alone until I teamed up with you."

"It's not like you weren't a con before she found you,too."

"Yeah, but then I was helping the dead get revenge on the people who wronged them in life, and making a little money to boot. This is different."

"You just like spending time working with ghosts better than you do with a real live boy like me."

Arthur purses his lips and glares. But he knows there's more truth to Dom's accusation than he'd like to admit.

The fact is that when you grow up playing with spectral children for years before you ever even realize that it's unusual, you're just never going to fit into society in a normal way.

The only time he doesn't have to hide his differences are when he's talking to the dead and when he's talking to Dom.

Even though he goes around pretending to be a spirit medium, the part Arthur plays for their marks is absolutely nothing like the reality of having the Sight.

Dom turns in for the night a little while later, eager to get back to his own room and whatever he and Mal do to amuse themselves together in there. Arthur suspects that Dom lets Mal possess him most evenings, as it's the closest thing to touch they can accomplish unless Dom picks up a woman for Mal to possess instead. Arthur can always tell when _that_ happens, because he gets to have wherever it is that they're staying to himself for the night.

They've tried to draw him into their little sex games many times, but the relationship is already a little too strange as it is without fucking his living coworker while his dead coworker takes over his body. Arthur has to draw a line somewhere.

And anyway, Arthur's a top and he doubts Dom would be into that.

He's in bed clicking around on his laptop, trying to untangle the complicated web of financial documents in Fischer's name when something--he couldn't say what exactly--compels him to get up and check out the main sitting room.

There's a ghost standing in front of the balcony doors, looking out into the night. Something about him makes the hairs on the back of Arthur's neck prickle.

The specter turns slowly around, with a mischievous half smile playing on his luscious mouth.

"Hullo, darling, remember me?"

Arthur's starts visibly. He can't hide his shock. Daniel Eames-Clarke has managed to show up just when Arthur had finally stopped worrying about him.

He puts his hands up in a defensive pose, not that it would do any good. Its more of a symbolic gesture than anything.

"We dropped the job. Nothing happened to your mother's assets. You don't have anything to avenge here," he says, voice calm and slow as if he's speaking to a frightened animal.

Eames-Clarke quirks an eyebrow at him.

"We didn't steal anything from your mother. She's flush. No harm, no foul. Please ... "

"You believe I'm here to ... what, haunt you because you were planning to nick something from my mother's house?"

"Well ... yeah. Why else would you find me?"

Eames-Clarke doubles over in laughter. It's beyond strange. But Arthur's heart rate slows as he accepts that there doesn't seem to be any danger to the situation.

"That homophobic old cow deserves whatever you had planned for her. I'm only sorry you didn't finish the job."

Arthur is genuinely shocked by this news. He'd clearly misunderstood a lot about Eames-Clarke's relationships and choices in life and death. But somehow it doesn't seem appropriate to ask just yet.

The dead like to keep their secrets most of the time. Information needs to be massaged out of them. Arthur knows this all too well from his former line of work. It used to take ages to get a haunting put together properly. That's one way Arthur supposes his current sort of con is an upgrade on his old one.

"It's only just ... " Eames-Clarke actually seems embarrassed, looking down at his spectral toes. "I was so surprised that you could _see_ me and I wanted to talk to you. But the minute I showed up, you and your friends scarpered, even the dead woman. It took me a while to find you, honestly. And even longer for me to be brave enough to show up round these parts when you were awake."

It's Arthur's turn to grin. Ghosts usually aren't surprised that he can see them, but it's happened before when someone is newly deceased. It's been about a year since Eames-Clark passed away. He must not have encountered anyone else with the Sight yet.

"I'm your first?" he asks.

Eames-Clarke scratches his chin and winks.

"I must say it's been a while since anyone asked me that?"

Arthur chuckles a bit.

"Well consider yourself Seen. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Perhaps if I could just pop round every once in a while?" Eames-Clarke asks. "I don't know if you've noticed, but ghosts aren't terribly social creatures. Gets a bit lonely."

"Uhhhh, sure, I guess. Just, you know, maybe not while I'm working?"

Eames-Clarke rolls his eyes.

"I don't give a toss about your swindles, Arthur."

"You know my name?"

"I picked up on it after stalking you for a bit."

"Should I call you Daniel?"

"Oh my days, no. My mates call me Eames."

Arthur smiles at the suggestion that they are going to be friends. You never know how it's going to go with ghosts. Sometimes they want to spend weeks or even months dominating as much of Arthur's time as he'll allow. Others promise to return and never do.

It's not until Eames has left that he starts berating himself for completely missing the possibility that the lost and friendless vibe was an act, meant to lull Arthur into lowering his guard. Is Eames what he claims to be, or actually angry and out for slow-burn revenge?

Arthur asks Mal first, before telling Dom about the encounter.

"It's impossible to say for certain, but I suspect he's being truthful, Arthur. If he were enraged about our actions, he would have taken his revenge in the moment."

"Is meeting someone with the Sight really that exciting? I usually feel like ghosts are up to their own business and I'm more of an inconvenience than anything."

"Not me, Arthur!"

"Except for you, of course. You hunted me down ruthlessly to preserve your husband's financial security."

What Arthur doesn't say is that she probably also did it to prevent Dom from ever having the chance to move on. The reason he never minds the brevity of spectral relationships is that there's an uncomfortable truth underlying all of them.

No one really knows how long ghosts exist, if there's any point at which they get another shot at going into the Tunnel. Arthur knows he's seen some who are hundreds of years old. Which kind of puts the damper on any relationships with living humans. 

Sooner or later the ghosts learn that they are going to keep going long after the living friend has succumbed to his or her own fate. 

And the living figure out that they are going to face a choice someday between becoming a ghost themselves and spending an actual eternity with their spectral companion, or moving on and abandoning the ghost who might have forsaken the Tunnel to be with them.

It's not generally a happy realization.

Of course, Mal and Dom have been doing their crazy thing for several years now. But the fact that Dom doesn't have the Sight himself probably makes the whole situation bearable, in an odd way, at least for him.

Although Mal is convinced that Eames is harmless, Dom is convinced that he's dangerous, because ghosts shouldn't feel lonely.

Dom has no sense of irony about his life.

Eames visits a few more times, always when Dom and Mal are otherwise occupied. Arthur enjoys their chats, although the topics are generally fairly bland and safe. No point in asking the big questions like: Why did you stay here, or do you ever regret your choice?

Arthur never lets his guard down entirely, but he does relax a bit. If Eames is pulling a long con on him, he might as well enjoy the hook while it lasts.

"Tell me, Eames. What do you do with your time when you're not floating around her?" Arthur jokes.

"I've taken to possessing people a bit. Not for too long. Just to remember what it feels like to have a body, eat a sandwich, drink a pint, have a wank."

Arthur doesn't disguise his frown. He's uncomfortable with possession.

"I don't make anyone do anything they wouldn't do already. And I don't fuck up anyone's life. I just ... I miss it."

"You're the worst ghost I've ever met, Eames. You get lonely, you miss your body, you crave food. What ... " he trails off, but the question hangs in the air unsaid. "Nevermind. None of my business."

"It's no bother. I don't mind talking about it."

"It's private. Your death. I barely know you."

"I'm not ashamed about it."

"Nor should you be. You died a hero."

Eames squirms at the praise. If he had pigment, he'd probably blush.

"So you don't mind telling me about the moment of your death, but you're uncomfortable being recognized for giving your life to save another's?"

"It was instinct. If I'd thought about it logically, I wouldn't have done. That's why I stayed, really, I suppose. I was angry at myself that for running into that building at all. Just some useless war training kicking in."

"You can still enjoy the world, you know. You don't have to feel robbed. Lot's of ghosts think they've hit the jackpot. Never aging. Floating around forever. Having fun at our expense."

"I doubt many of us have fun at _your_ expense, Arthur."

"Mine? No. I like to chat, but I'm not stupid. I don't let anyone fuck with me. Closed for hauntings."

"Open for possession?"

"Oh no. Uh uh. Not a chance, buddy. No one gets in here but me."

Eames chuckles like a 12 year old at the possible double meaning.

"Laugh it up. Go ahead. You try that shit with me, I'll make you wish you'd never died."

"Ha ha bloody ha. Is that Seer humor?"

"I guess so. Seriously though I fucked with that shit a bit as a teenager and it was dumb and dangerous. It would have to be my mother's ghost and she's have to have a desperately urgent need to use my body."

"Is your mother a ghost?" Eames asks, surprised.

"No, she's alive. I'm just saying."

"Does she know about your gift?"

"She thinks I'm a an efficiency consultant. Which is preferable, really. Once people find out, it's impossible. And anyway, if she didn't figure it out when I was a child constantly surrounded by 'imaginary friends,' she's probably being willfully obtuse."

"Sounds like you're nearly as lonely as me."

\---------------

The job is taking longer than expected. Arthur's research into Fischer's financial holdings is slow going and his attempt to hack into Fischer's therapist's computer is even less fruitful.

It doesn't help matters that Dom and Mal have been mostly AWOL, practically sequestering themselves in Dom's room for a week.

And Eames has gone missing, too, as ghost friends almost always do sooner or later. Arthur is surprised by how much he misses him.

He realizes how right Eames had been about his loneliness.

One of the horrible things that compounds Arthur's differences from most people is that he finds little-to-no solace in fictional creations, as so many others seem to when they feel isolated and alone.

Books are sort of OK, but movies and television are impossible. When you're accustomed to having spectral forms floating around you every day in nearly every public place, the camera's inabibility to capture what Arthur's Eye can See becomes horrifying. It's as if half the world's population had suddenly disappeared and nobody on screen is talking about it.

As an angsty teenager, Arthur had gone through a cinelhile phase. It was an attempt to view the world as everyone else did, without knowing any secrets about the afterlife. But it had only made him depressed and prone to lashing out with dangerous activities, like letting strange ghosts partially possess his body for joy rides and masturbation.

So Arthur is not the kind of person to make small talk with about the latest movie or big watercooler television event. Pretty much the only media he consumes is music.

And porn, of course. Although he's taken to covering his eyes when he uses it, just to avoid the dissonance of a specter-free set.

Frustrated by his isolation and lack of progress, he grabs his sleep mask and starts looking online for something that will suit his needs--something loud with lots of squelching and skin slapping, in addition to all the usual panting and moaning.

Once the mask is in place and he's shrouded in darkness, Arthur lets his mind wander a bit as the noises fill his ears and start to arouse him. He finds himself imagining two men wrestling around on a cramped bed, working out some aggression before they get down to fucking.

As the fantasy takes shape he realizes that one of the men definitely looks like Fischer's father's business rival, Saito, which is odd, and the other looks like Eames, which is even more strange.

It should take him out of the moment, but instead it leads him down a rabbit hole into his own probably fucked-up psychogy as he watches the Saito lookalike flip the Eames lookalike over, pull his hips into the air, and rim him to within an inch of his nonexistent life. The Eames-alike is grasping at the sheets as if they are a lifeline and moaning like a cheap trick.

Part of Arthur is concerned that he clearly has some pent-up issues to work out concerning Eames and possibly about the job, as well. Another part of him wants to see Eames face.

So he imagines Saito rolling Eames over again and swallowing his cock like a champion. He watches Eames face go slack with pleasure and then taut when he shoots down Saito's throat.

Saito doesn't wait for Eames to come down from his climax at all. He throws Eames' legs over his shoulders and pushes into him with the confidence of someone who knows his lover's body like a safecracker. He gives two long thrusts, the muscles in his back moving appealingly and then ...

... Arthur comes into his handkerchief, groaning.

He takes a few minutes in the darkness of his blindfold to just breathe and allow the relaxation of an orgasm to flow through his body.

When he removes the sleep mask, however, Eames is floating nearby, grinning at him. Arthur feels a rush of shame, followed by a wave of anger.

"I don't think you've quite got the knack of this pornography thing yet, Arthur," Eames says, looking pointedly at the mask.

"Eames, you asshole!" Arthur shouts. "Haven't you ever heard of privacy?"

Eames doesn't look very apologetic when he shrugs, "part of the whole ghost business, isn't it? There was another bloke hanging about earlier, too, but I chased him off."

"Eames, that is completely unfair. You bitch and moan constantly about having to exist as a ghost, not having a body with which to enjoy food or sex or getting drunk. But then you throw this 'don't blame me, I'm just a clueless ghost who has forgotten human social mores' shit at me when you fucking well _know_ that I wouldn't want you hovering around watching me."

Now Eames looks upset.

"Come off it, Arthur. You are always telling me to stop obsessing over my body and abandon my attachment to you and act l like a proper ghost and then when I do ..."

"No you come off it, Eames! You just admitted to chasing another ghost away so that you could, what? Be alone with me?"

"What's so terrible about that? You've never had a ghost fancy you before?"

"No, because ghosts aren't supposed to fancy people."

"Bullshit! Look at your business partner and his dead wife!"

Arthur takes a deep breath. He needs to let go of his embarrassment and his lingering confusion over his jerk-off fantasy about Eames and try to salvage this.

"Eames ... Look, what you have to understand is that ... Your brain ... No, your mind, it doesn't really perceive time the way mine does, the way it did when you were living. And it doesn't really form attachments the same way, either. Everything is all or nothing. I've had ghosts take to me before, especially in my old line of work, and then just suddenly disappear. It's really not very pleasant, on top of all the other shit that makes my life confusing and ... you're right, sometimes lonely."

"So you're telling me that I should stop wanting to spend time with you as some sort of preemptive strike?"

"Yes, Eames," Arthur sighs. "I know you think, 'oh this time is different,' but you have to understand that I've been dealing with ghosts _my entire fucking life_. You may not think you're going to spend six months talking to me for hours every night and then disappear forever on a whim, _but you will_."

Eames looks really livid now, "oh so you think you know me better than I know myself?!"

"Yes, Eames, I do."

"Well that's really unfair, Arthur."

"I know it is, Eames. But ... I just, I've been through this before. Well not exactly this, but ..."

"You had a dead boyfriend?"

"No, not really. I ... I did some stupid shit in high school. Thrill riding--letting myself be possessed and jerking off, or having sex with someone who reminded them of an old flame, which was really stupid and dangerous. And ... And I also ... had a friend who I used to talk to at night, a lot, a few years back, before I dropped out of college ... Nothing ever happened with him, but I wanted it to, and it absolutely fucking wrecked me when he disappeared out of the blue one day ..."

"But, alright, even if I acquiesce to your insistence that despite how I feel now, it won't last, how is that different to relationships between living people? People split. People even die sometimes," he says, gesturing to himself.

 

"Right, but Eames, when you have a relationship between living people, you can generally introduce your boyfriend to your friends and your family and if he dumps you, or if he dies, people feel sad for you and try to help. If your ghost boyfriend disappears on you ... literally 'ghosts' you, then you can't tell _anyone_ about it ..."

Eames purses his lips pityingly.

"I see your point, Arhur. I do wish you'd consider it, but ... I concede that you are not rejecting me out of hand for no reason."

The moment is beyond awkward and after staring sadly at each other for a few beats, Eames blows Arthur a kiss and floats off through the window.

Arthur sighs a heavy sigh. All the release and relaxation from his orgasm is gone. But in a weird way, he does feel as if a weight has been lifted. It's been a long time since he just unloaded all the bullshit about his life on anyone and it had felt pretty good.

\-------  
He sees Eames around, albeit briefly, every day for a week. Eames always appears when Arthur is otherwise engaged, often out in public, and just hovers nearby smiling, possibly offering a wink or another air kiss, and them disappears again.

Athur isn't sure what Eames is up to with this behavior, but it's kind of endearing.

That's why when Arthur tails Robert Fischer to a fancy bar after his therapy session and sees Eames hovering in the corner near a banquette, his first instinct is just smile in a friendly way and wait for Eames to float away, as usual.

Except he doesn't. He keeps hanging around, hovering over Robert's shoulder and it's getting distracting.

Arthur glares strenuously in his direction.

Unfortunately, Fischer notices that Arthur seems to be trying to set his table on fire with his mind and mistakes the irritation for intent. He responds with a slow, deliberate smile accompanied by a once-over of Arthur's body where he leans against the bar.

Fuck.

He's not above flirting with a mark, if necessary, but it complicates things. Now he's got to worry about Robert reconciling his "guy I tried to pick up" experience with his "guy who is helping me communicate with my dead father" experience.

But there's nothing to be done about it at the moment.

He crosses the bar at an easy gait, letting Robert get a good look at him, and offers a slightly predatory grin as he sits down without being asked.

"Arthur Harris," he says, extending a hand.

"Robert Fischer."

"I know. I thought I recognized you. Didn't mean to be caught staring."

"I didn't mind catching you one bit."

Arthur flirts easily with Fischer, who is not so much handsome as he is straight-up pretty and who seems all too eager for the attention.

But it's distracting with Eames floating just behind Robert, smirking. What's he playing at? Does he think he's helping, because he so isn't.

"What do you do?" Robert asks him after a while and Arthur pulls out one of his highest-quality fake business cards.

"I don't want to go into the details, because my services are a bit unusual and my clients' privacy is of the uttmost importance to me. But let's just say I'm a very specialized freelance consultant."

"Is this some kind of sex thing?" Robert blurts out, blushing from either excitement or embarrassment.

"No, no, nothing tawdry, just ... Well it's better if I don't say. It's a word-of-mouth kind of thing. If someone requires my services, a trusted friend will pass my information along."

"You're not ... a hitman are you?" Robert squirms in his seat.

Arthur isn't used to people asking so many questions when he goes high-end with his persona like this. Robert is either startlingly uninhibited or completely unafraid of whatever it is Arthur might say.

He's an unusual one, either way, and it endears Arthur to him a bit.

"No, no, no, don't be absurd. Do I look like a killer?" he replies.

"I don't know, maybe," Robert says, running his foot up the length of Arthur's calf.

Eames leans forward eagerly and Arthur suddenly understands what he's up to.

Eames wants to possess Robert and have sex with Arthur in his body. Arthur feels betrayed by the heat that floods him at the realization.

He wants Eames in the way a way he hasn't wanted anyone in ages, possibly ever, he discovers. He should be objecting, excusing himself, but he can't.

When Robert leaves the banquette to take a phone call, Arthur hisses at Eames that this is a terrible idea.

"Perhaps, but you're not saying no and, more importantly, neither is he."

"So far. But where's the cutoff point? How many steps do I have to wait before it's OK? When we leave here? When he asks me over? When we're naked? When I'm inside him?" he adds, shivering slightly at the smoulder in Eames' gaze at his words.

"You just give the signal, darling. Use the word pineapple and I'll take him over and then you can take me, so to speak ..."

Arthur rolls his eyes. Robert is actually a better flirt.

"Eveything OK?" he asks when Robert returns frowning.

"Oh, yeah, just stupid work bullshit, you know?"

"Everyone has stupid work bullshit. That's universal."

"Even mysterious private consultants with uninformative business cards?"

"Especially them," Arthur nods sagely.

"Do you want to get out of here" Robert asks. "Have a drink, or whatever, back at my place?"

"Or whatever sounds good," Arthur says, knocking back the rest of his cocktail.

Robert hails a cab. In the back seat, Arthur lays his hand possessively on Robert's leg, stroking his thumb in circles. The necessity of gaining full consent that Roberts wants this before he gives Eames the go-ahead is making Arthur bolder than usual.

Robert's apartment is enormous and impeccable. He offers Arthur a drink.

"I don't mind having another drink, but what I really crave is to hear you tell what you want to happen afterward," Arthur feels cheesy as hell saying this, but he needs to know, to hear it from Robert's mouth. And he needs to hear it soon.

Robert actually blushes.

"I, uh, you're not doing a good job of convincing me you're not some high-end sex consultant. Did my uncle Peter hire you?"

Arthur laughs.

"I'm not. Although I probably would be good at it, honestly."

Robert shivvers and Arthur continues, taking a moment to lay the groundwork for properly introducing his line of work at a later date: "I just like to be very upfront about everything. I travel pretty much constantly and I don't have the opportunity for relationships, so I try to squeeze every last drop of pleasure out of the time I have with someone, and that means not wasting anything on guesswork."

He keeps going, speaking his fantasies about Eames aloud and adding some details about Robert's own physical assets in for good measure: "For example, I'll tell you what I would like to happen here. I'd very much like to kiss your pouty mouth, to run my fingers through your hair. I want to get you so worked up just from that, like teenagers rolling around in bed making out. Then I want to take off all your clothes, undoing every button myself. And I want to touch you everywhere, all over that gorgeous body I'm sure you're hiding under such fine tailoring. I want to lie on the bed and have you hover over me, gripping the headboard as I stick my tongue up your ass until you're practically crying from it. Then when you absolutely have to come or you think you might die, I want you to shove your probably long and elegant dick down my throat. I'll swallow and then flip us over so I can kiss you some more while I finger you open ... "

He pauses to look up at the slightly taller Robert through his eyelashes.

"I ... I don't need to hear anymore. I'm good with all that. Save some surprises for the end, why don't you?"

Arthur grins wolfishly at Robert, ready to have Eames inside him already.

"I don't suppose your cocktail back at the bar had any pineapple in it?" he asks.

It's a comparatively lame come-on next to everything he'd just said, but it also doesn't really matter, because now Eames is inside Robert, fully possessing him, and whatever Robert remembers of this will be hazy.

He doesn't wait another second, surging forward to kiss Eames. Robert's lips aren't plush like Eames' and he's taller and far more slightly built, but it's almost as if Arthur can feel Eames' body inside Robert's. It's almost as if he can touch them both at once.

By unspoken agreement, they play things more-or-less exactly as Arthur had laid out in his seduction speech. Not that he'd really want to change it up anyway.

Arthur takes care with Robert's fine clothes when he removes them, piece by piece. Eames shows less caution with Arthur's as he strips him down to his underpants. But Arthur finds he doesn't mind a few popped buttons, not when Eames is loudly crying out as Arthur points and flutters his tongue, working Eames open with his mouth for what feels like an hour.

He slows it down just a bit when Eames is ready for Arthur to suck him off. He takes his time with exploratory licks, running his lips up and down the shaft, teasing Eames, but also savoring the moment before they progress to the finale. When he finally opens his throat properly and starts working it around Eames' cock, it takes no time at all before his mouth is flooded with hot, salty come.

Eames is limp as a dishrag when Arthur gently shoves him onto his back and lifts his legs over his own shoulders to start fingering Eames open with the lube from Robert's bedside drawer. He hardly needs it after so long under Arthur's tongue, but Arthur loves doing this, learning a body with his hands first.

When he finally shoves inside, looking down at Eames, he almost cries with the overwhelming sense of rightness.

Despite being somewhat socially maladjusted, Arthur has always loved sex. It's the one area in his life where the living beat the dead without contest.

Or so he thought.

But being inside Eames inside Robert is changing everything he thought he'd understood about how his body works, about what he wants. It's a connection between both halves of his life, a bridge, and it's electric. His dick feels connected to his very soul as he shouts and pants and groans, pounding into Eames.

He flips them and takes Eames from behind, reaching around to fondle his balls and stroke his slowly hardening dick.

He wants this to last forever, but he knows he can't hold out much longer.

"It's alright darling. It's alright," Eames whispers, giving him the go ahead.

When he comes, he swears he sees lights in his eyes. What has Eames done with him? How does he go back to ordinary life after this?

He rolls them again and jerks Eames off, straddling his hips and using both hands as Eames writhes beneath him.

He doesn't want Eames to leave. Wants to keep touching him.

"Spend the night," Eames says, still inside Robert as they lie tangled together in ruined sheets.

Arthur does.

When Eames leaves Robert's body in sleep, Robert nuzzles closer against Arthur's chest, as if seeking lost warmth.

"Shhhhh," Arthur whispers nonsensically and wraps his arms tighter.

\---------

Arthur is scheduled to meet Robert again after his next therapy session. Not that he is supposed to know about that bit, just that Robert will be in this part of town again and would, in his own words, love to meet up.

Robert's eagerness is what makes Arthur agree to a second date, if you can even call their previous hookup such a thing. It assuages some of his guilt over what had happened with Eames. If Robert doesn't mind, why should he?

Of course, because he's fucked in the head, he also hopes that Eames will turn up again. He's much less interested in screwing actual Robert than he is in re-visiting last week's mind blowing sex with Eames inside Robert's body.

Which is why he's relieved to see Eames trailing behind Robert as he enters the agreed upon bar. He's less relieved when he sees the deep frown on Eames' face. He looks genuinely upset and Arthur can't begin to think why or what he can do about it under the circumstances.

He tries to ignore it as he kisses Robert on the cheek in greeting and asks after his day. He tries to stay light and flirty, but Eames is a literal dark cloud hanging over everything. And, honestly, Robert seems a bit out of it as well.

"Is everything OK?" he asks Robert, hand resting gently on his knee.

"Oh, yes, I ... I had kind of a weird meeting before this. I'm sorry. Its kind of messing with my head."

Arthur finds Robert's hand and threads their fingers together. He needs Robert to trust him if he wants to be able to transition their relationship from fucking to channeling the dead.

"Want to talk about it?"

"No. I don't know. I don't think so. I'm sorry this is a terrible way to act with someone I just met."

Just then Eames pipes up, as if this whole situation weren't delicate enough already.

"Darling, I'm so sorry to complicate things, but I need to tell you something. I don't think it can wait. It concerns our friend here," he nods toward Robert. "Please, will you pretend to get a phone call so we can speak for a moment. You want to know this. Trust me."

Arthur squeezes Robert's fingers in what he hopes feels like a supportive way and pulls away.

"Sorry. My phone. I've got to take this. Hold on just one sec, OK?"

He pulls his phone out of his jacket thankful that he always has it set on vibrate.

"Hello, this is Arthur Harris," he intones in his most-professional voice.

"I'm so sorry, Arthur, but I wanted to help ..."

"Please don't tell me you've made things worse."

"No, no. Better, I hope, if more complicated. I ... I went with Mr. Fischer to his therapy appointment."

Arthur tries to convey with just his eyes how ridiculous it is to call Robert Mr. Fischer when you've been inside his body getting fucked until you screamed.

"His therapist ... She's ... She's up to no good. I think she's after his money herself. She hypnotized him and made all these suggestions about giving up his fortune to find happiness, similar to your own planned strategy, I believe. I thought you should know straight away ..."

"Hmmmm ... Do you get the feeling this has been going on for a long time?"

"No. I don't think so. She referred to him as one of Dr. Hublau's usual patients. Perhaps she is posing as a fill-in whilst his usual is on holiday?"

"I wonder why that didn't come up in my research?"

"I couldn't say, but I thought you'd want to know straightaway."

"I do. Thank you. I ... I really appreciate your doing this. It was ... More than I'd have ever expected."

"I only aim to please, Arthur."

It takes all of Arthur's strength not to look up at Eames and smile.

Eames adds, "I think you should stay with him for the time being. Try to see what took from the hypnosis."

Arthur would prefer to rush back to his laptop, but he supposes Eames is right.

"Will you be staying on as well?"

"Do you want me to? Or should I go tell Mrs. Cobb?"

Arthur frowns.

"Dammit, I guess you should. Tell her she can call me if she has questions."

Arthur's evening is a shaping up to be a lot less fun than he'd anticipated. He wants to be with his team strategizing how to deal with this new information. He also wants to be having sex with Eames later. But neither of those things are likely to happen. Fuck!

He's apologetic to Robert when he hangs up, but declines an offer to reschedule. Instead, he suggests that in light of them both having bad days, they eat comfort food and watch a movie. Robert's eyes light at the idea so Arthur knows that he'd guessed right about Robert just wanting a break from all the responsibilities and guilt piling up on his shoulders.

They order some takeout that's ridiculously fattening, even by French standards, and eat it on Robert's couch while watching an absurd action movie.

Arthur manages to keep his revulsion in check by pulling Robert to sit at his feet and rubbing his shoulders so he won't notice that Arthur isn't looking at the ghost-free screen at all.

He's creating a problematic situation here by behaving less like a casual hookup and more like a boyfriend. He'll have to make extra sure Robert understands that in his capacity as an"independent, highly specialized consultant," Arthur moves around all the time and is not really available for relationships. But ... he'll do it _gently_.

He feels strangely protective of this mark, which is exactly why he never should have let things get physical between them, no matter how awesome fucking Eames had been.

After the movie, Arthur says he has to get back to work and Robert offers to make him an espresso drink for the road. Arthur kneels on the kitchen floor and blows him while the machine heats up, and while it makes his latte ... and while said beverage cools on the counter.

It isn't the same as it was with Eames inside Robert, but it's still nice. He threads his finger through Arthur's hair and makes breathy, little moans whenever Arthur does something right. He's turned on enough despite himself to jerk off as he sucks, and licks, and eventually swallows.

They kiss and nuzzle each other a bit afterward and Arthur feels confused about his affection when he walks to the elevator, room-temperature coffee in hand.

Back at the rental apartment he finds Mal and Eames in deep discussion and poor Dom looking confused, since they seem to have forgotten to keep him in the loop.

"I like your new boyfriend, mon cher," Mal says, and Eames winks and responds, "me or Fischer?"

Arthur's face is on fire.

"You left me with him? What was I supposed to do?"

"I only regret I wasn't able to watch."

Arthur laughs and pulls out his laptop.

"So what's the plan?"

Cobb is apparently going to become a new patient of the therapist's and plant a camera in her office. Once they have a recording of her inappropriate behavior with Robert, they can use it to blackmail her.

Arthur favors bluffing. They have enough specifics that she might believe they recorded her session, because she certainly won't suspect the real reason they know what she's been up to.

But he's overruled by Dom who wisely points out that she may be answering to someone above her who would not be so easily impressed by Eames' perfect recall of the events in her office or who would prefer to hang her out to dry.

So two days later Cobb goes to his first-ever therapy session, which is honestly a shock, all things considered, and returns a bit shaken and wanting to be alone--even wanting privacy from Mal.

Arthur meets up with Robert again, granting Eames' voyeuristic wish to just watch as he gently fingers him open and then changes course and sucks Robert off again, instead of fucking him. Somehow he only wants to do that when Eames is in there.

He's hoping against hope that this scheme with the therapist will work and that he won't have to con Fischer. He's grown attached, despite himself.

"This is why I don't have sex with marks, you asshole," he tells Eames later.

"You fancy him?" Eames asks when they get back to the rental, sounding jealous.

"You started this!" Arthur retorts. "And anyway, I like you more, obviously! Why do you think I changed my mind about screwing him? I didn't want to unless it was you. But ... I do like him and I don't want to hurt him. This is awful. I'm no good with the living."

"I think perhaps you're no good at being a criminal, darling.

"I am excellent at being a criminal. I just don't like it very much at the moment."

They are both pouty and sullen all night.

\------

Arthur tells Robert he can't meet at their usual time, because he wants to be at the office to watch the hidden camera's feed of Robert's therapy session on the computer.

He's glad he did, because it's immediately apparent that this session is nothing like any of the dozen others that they've spied on this week. She puts him into a trance and immediately starts suggesting that he sell his inherited corporate shares to his father's business rival Saito.

Arthur wonders of his subconscious had suspected Saito all along and had tried to warn him with that little sex fantasy he'd cooked up when Eames had caught him jerking off.

He feels terrible for Robert in a way he can't even explain, considering he's trying to accomplish much the same thing as Saito and this crooked therapist. There's just something a little less cruel about offering a man imagined closure with his cruel father than there is about brainwashing him into believing that his dearest wish is to sell off all his father's paper assets. It's a finedistinction, Arthur realizes. But not a nonexistent one.

He pulls up his phone and composes a text, telling Robert that his own "business imeeting" is likely to end earlier than anticipated and asking if he'd like to have dinner together after all. He shows the screen to Eames and awaits his nod before sending it.

But about ten minutes after the therapy session had ended with a dazed-looking Robert wandering glassy eyed out the office door, Robert replies to Arthur that he's actually not feeling well and is heading straight to bed.

It's for the best, because Dom's "appointment" is first thing the next morning and Arthur wants to be wide awake and unconflicted as he watches the planned confrontation play out on the screen.

Plus, he has work to do tonight.

He makes a bunch of copies of the recording and sends them to his three private P.O. boxes, Dom's house in Pasadena, his own condo in Santa Fe, and his mom's place in Yakima, just to be safe. He drops the packages in three different pickup boxes, just to decrease the likelihood of someone finding and stopping all of them, even someone as powerful as Saito.

Dom can be a pain in the ass and an unreliable friend, but when he brings the full force of his manipulative charisma to bear on someone, it is a wonder to behold, especially from the comforts of a rented out apartment rather than in the middle of managing a fake Visitation with Mal.

She'd insisted on accompanying him to the appointment, but the camera can't detect her, so Arthur and Eames can't see her on the screen, either.

She must be glowing with spectral pride, however, as Dom maneuveres the therapist into watching the recording and then offers her a very generous deal to split the take 60/40 with her and Saito taking the larger share.

And Mal must be furious when the therapist lashes out at him in turn, accusing him of a warped attachment to his dead wife, among other more-illegal things. Apparently, Dom had drawn a little too much from real life in his initial fake therapy session.

In fact, Arthur soon sees exactly how furious Mal is, because suddenly Dom rears back and slaps the tiny therapist right across her face with the meat of his hand, something he would never do in a million years. He must be possessed.

Arthur is certain of it when, as the therapist stands there holding her blazing cheek, Cobb switches languages and tells her in perfect French exactly how many minutes she has to call Saito and make the deal before his associate will deliver the recording to every relevant governing body from her professional association to INTERPOL.

He's not sure whom Mal is possessing anymore when, after a very tense negotiation and a great deal of shouting, Dom and the therapist start making out on her couch.

Arthur closes the laptop.

"See what kind of fucked up shit we have to look forward to if this relationship keeps going?" he tells Eames.

"Darling are we in a relationship?"

"I don't know, aren't we?"

"I thought, perhaps, you preferred the flesh and blood of your countryman."

"I'm fond of Robert. But I'm not exactly going to move to Paris and date him while I live off of the money I've helped steal from him."

Eames huffs a laugh, almost an actual puff of air.

"Fair point."

"But I do want to see him a few more times, with you, if possible, just to make him feel a bit of happiness in his life before I have to go."

"You're like a thieving Mary Poppins, you."

"Maybe we can branch out, incorporate seduction into all our future schemes."

"Future schemes? So does this mean you'll be hanging around ... floating around?"

"If you'll have me."

"Of course ... Just don't, don't disappear on me if you can help it, OK?"

"Why would I ever want to?"

\-----

It takes another two and a half weeks for the therapist to convince Robert to sell. Arthur never meets her in person. It's ostensibly to protect their operation from Saito, but Arthur suspects that it's also because Dom, and possibly Mal, are sleeping with her.

He doesn't mind. He sees Robert three more times over the period and Eames always tags along. He just sits around observing from the outside until they start having sex, however, out of some unspoken agreement with Arthur that Robert really needs the opportunity to talk with someone freely and unpossessed. When things start getting physical, Eames enters Robert and Arthur enters Eames and sparks almost literally fly.

On the night Arthur and Robert say goodbye, both of their pockets ironically lined with the successful sale of Robert's inheritance, he promises to look him up if he's ever back in the city and he means it.

"How would you feel about a holiday from work?" Eames asks as Arthur strolls down the street toward the Metro. "No Dom, no Mal, just us and an island resort full of willing lads looking to pull with a dark-haired, sloe-eyed beauty?"

"I think I could work something out to that effect, yeah," Arthur grins up at him.


End file.
